A/N: Some trope-y holiday fluff!
It was their nine month and one week anniversary. Depending on when you started counting. It was a point of mild contention.
It was also Christmas.
They had left his—recently also hers— two days before for the airport, carry-ons full of their own things, and luggage packed exclusively and to the brim full of gifts.
The Bennets were a lively, rambunctious people, Lizzie had told Will as they struggled through airport check-in with numerous heavy bags (she had insisted they fly commercial—Christmas at the Bennets was not about to become a Pemberley Digital expense—they would leave the company jet cozied in its hanger, thank you very much) only to be tamed by plenty of thoughtful and creative presents.
He raised an eyebrow.
"All right, my mother is a lively, rambunctious person only to be tamed by plenty of thoughtful and creative presents," she relented.
As much of a hard time as he was wont to give her, he had no room to talk. William Darcy was by all accounts an accomplished gift-giver. Since he could remember, Gigi had borne the brunt of his excesses, tolerating the expensive watches, the personalized stationary, the monogramed towels, and had herself become a very accomplished gift-receiver.
But when it became clear that Lizzie was becoming a very permanent part of his life, his gift-giving abilities suddenly seemed decidedly lacking and woefully un-extraordinary. For though he had once managed to charm Gigi with earrings or the tablet she'd been eyeing (for school, Will!), he was now faced with a woman who neither wanted to be showered with jewelry, nor held much stock in jewelry's validity as a real gift.
"A gift should mean something, Will," she had said the day after Thanksgiving, when he insisted that the Tiffany's necklace he bought for Gigi last year was a personal and heartfelt gift.
"Gigi loved that necklace," he'd countered.
"I'm not saying it wasn't a beautiful or kind gift," she'd said, scraping the remaining Thanksgiving leftovers from her plate into the garbage can. "I've seen her wear it, and you have excellent taste, you know you do. But where's the forethought? The personal touch? The thing that says 'I know you well, and I love you for everything you are'? Anyone can give a necklace, and anyone can get one."
He had decided to let the matter rest, knowing it likely wasn't a disagreement worth trying to win, though, admittedly, it gave him a niggling anxiety for what he was going to get Lizzie for Christmas if jewelry was off the table.
In the weeks that followed, Darcy watched in bemused awe as Lizzie assembled Christmas gifts for her family, coming home one Saturday afternoon after dealing with a minor crisis that necessitated going into the office to a living room littered with paper scraps. It was as if a tornado had had a bit of a disagreement with a bookstore, and the disagreement had escalated quickly into a street fight, Lizzie sitting on the floor at the coffee table with a look of intense concentration.
For several moments, he only watched. She didn't seem to notice him come in the house. It wasn't until he approached with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate—candy canes sticking out above the rim—that she finally registered his presence, and she jumped.
"Jesus, Will, you nearly gave me a heart attack! When did you get back?"
"About ten minutes ago. You were concentrating so hard, so I just…watched." He handed her a mug as he sat down on the couch next to where she sat on the floor. "What on Earth are you doing, anyway? It looks like you've put my library through a wood chipper."
She ribbed him gently with her elbow after pushing herself up to sit on the couch beside him. "Mmmm, you're warm," she said, cozying next to him. She draped her legs over his lap and leaned her head onto his shoulder. "But I haven't touched the books. I'm scrapbooking."
"You scrapbook?" he asked. While it wasn't the last hobby he expected her to have, it certainly wasn't high on the list.
"Not really. Mom does. But I make her a scrapbook every once in a while for Christmas. See?" Lizzie made a grab for the open scrapbook on the table. "For my new life in San Francisco."
The pages were arranged with photos of the streets of San Francisco, Lizzie imitating a seal as it napped off the Wharf, she and Darcy standing awkwardly in front of the Pemberley Digital office sign in a picture that she got Gigi to take for them, and one of Will holding a lobster in each hand at the Ferry Building market, among others.
"I think she has a wall of shelves for each of us," she said by the bye, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Darcy's fingers lingered over the plastic sleeves that encased the pages. "These are amazing. I had no idea you had so many photos of us. Do you have more of them? I'd like to frame them. We could put them around the house. Our house."
He pulled her close and nuzzled her jaw, placing a kiss just below her ear.
"Check your keys," she replied.
"My keys?"
"I put a flash drive on your keychain. It has all these photos…and a few more."
"A few more?" he asked, raising a suspecting eyebrow. Lizzie flushed. "Not the ones from—"
"Yep, the ones from that night in Aspen—I was careful: they're password protected. And I certainly wouldn't open those files on a work computer," she said, pushing herself up to set her mug on the side table so that she could straddle her legs over his lap before he could start lecturing her about whether she had learned anything from Lydia's previous predicament.
Her hands free, she laced her fingers behind his head and neck, kissing him soundly, her hips rolling over his. She raked the tips of her fingers through is hair, then brought one hand down and pulled him to her with his tie, her breasts grazing against his chest.
"Do you find yourself diverted, Mr. Darcy?" she breathed lightly into his ear.
"Excessively. But don't see how with one scrapbook you managed to turn the room upside down."
"I made one for Gigi, too," she said, pushing herself away slightly so that she could look at him properly, but he pulled her back against him. "Pictures of you and her, of her and I, Fitz, Lydia, everyone. If you let me go, I can show you."
"Not interested," he said into her neck.
"Not interested in the incredibly thoughtful gift I made for your only sister?" she asked with mock indignation.
"I am only interested," he started, planting kisses onto her neck in earnest now, "in how we are going to avoid serious injury," he pushed gently down onto the couch so that she was lying down and he hovered over her, his fingers slipping under her shirt and over her ribcage, "as the result of sustaining so many paper cuts."
::
In the week leading up to Christmas Lizzie's moving boxes had finally been emptied and unpacked, only to be replaced by several open suitcase, one in which she was attempting to squeeze a box of chocolates on top of a rather fine—and rather expensive—model train set.
"I still think we should have shipped it all ahead," Darcy said, preceding a cloud of steam as he walked out of the en suite bathroom, a towel hitched low and loose around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth.
"Are you kidding? They'd never be able to keep their hands off them. We'd arrive and the only gifts left unopen would be the ones for Jane and Bing."
This year's Bennet Christmas was set to be the biggest yet, making Mrs. Bennet the most over-the-moon woman on the street. Jane was coming in from New York with Bing the day before Lizzie and Darcy were set to get in. Bing would spend Christmas morning with Caroline at Netherfield and join the Bennets in the afternoon. Lydia was already there, and Gigi, who couldn't imagine spending a Christmas without her brother, was still practically strong-armed by Mrs. Bennet into attending the Christmas because Gigi, she said, was as good as family and she wouldn't take no for an answer.
So now they were faced with packing enough presents for six other people, not to mention the gifts they had for each other.
He hoped she didn't expect him to make her a scrapbook, as his expertise didn't extend into arts and crafts, but he still didn't know what he as going to give her for Christmas. It needed to be perfect, and he was running out of time.
Lizzie, finally having managed to zip closed the suitcases of gifts, grabbed a towel to take a shower herself, but not before playfully, if not crudely, giving his bum a small slap, which still made her blush despite herself.
Darcy gave an uncharacteristic yelp, but she closed the door before he could make after her, and listened to her giggle behind the door before it was drowned out by the sound of the shower turning on.
He was distracted when he heard his phone ping with a text message. It was from Bing.
Found it. Think she'll like it?
Attached was a photo of a rather magnificent-looking engagement ring: modern, simple, and likely a bit more than Bing could really afford to spend.
Darcy stared at the picture, his mind racing.
The toilet flushed, and there was a pause before he heard Lizzie step into the shower. He practically jumped into his clothes and ran into his den office where he kept his safe full of important documents, a sum of money in cash, and family heirlooms.
He thought he might have the perfect gift after all.
::
It was their nine month and one week anniversary. Depending on when you started counting. It was a point of mild contention.
It was also Christmas.
The Bennet house was full to bursting. There may have only been three extra people, but they were making all the difference.
"Lizzie, dear, I asked you to baste the turkey ten minutes ago! It's gonna get dry and I will not have you ruinin' Christmas!" Mrs. Bennet chided from the kitchen.
"Jane did it, mom!" Lizzie was setting the table for dinner, unsure of which forks went where, as this was the first time ever her mother decided to use all the china and silverware.
"That spoon goes above the plate," said Darcy, walking into the dining room, which was currently the quietest room in the house. Lydia and Gigi surprised everyone with old Bennet and Darcy family videos in the living room, which made everyone cackle with laughter when a three-year-old William Darcy, complete with a bowtie, folded his napkin with precocious neatness over his lap in a video from a Christmas long ago.
Despite Bing's attempts to join their father with his trains, Mrs. Bennet had him in her clutches in the kitchen, fawning and doting so aggressively that even Jane looked sympathetic.
"Thank God," Lizzie said, putting the silver fork above the delicate white plate, smiling at Will. "Would you mind giving me a hand? It'll go faster."
"Could I talk to you for a moment, Lizzie? Upstairs?" Darcy asked when they had finished the place settings.
She looked at him quizzically, but nodded and they walked upstairs, the din below muffled but not silenced when they went into Lizzie's old bedroom, and closed the door behind them.
"Is everything okay?"
"Everything is perfect," he replied. "I wanted to give you your Christmas present."
"But we're doing them after dinner."
"I know. That's it, though. I wanted to give you this alone."
"Alone? Why? Oh my God, did you didn't get me lingerie did you?"
"No! What? No, of course not. Not that I would be opposed…but no." He paused, not knowing exactly what to do next.
"Will?"
"Right, sorry. Anyway, I know you said that jewelry isn't a very good gift, that it isn't very personal or meaningful, but I wanted to know if you might make an exception."
"I didn't mean—I didn't mean to sound snobby. I'm sorry if I sounded rude."
"No, you were right," he said, "but I'm hoping you'll approve of this."
"Okay…"
He crouched down to his carry-on and rummaged for a moment, pulling out a small, deep green velvet box.
"Will—"
"Wait, Lizzie. I know we've only really talked about this a few times—"
"No, seriously, wait a minute," she said, and went over to her bag, which was hanging on the doorknob. She handed him a long box wrapped in red paper and a green bow.
"Open this first, please."
When she finally looked at him, his face was full of confusion and anxiety.
"Don't worry! Just…just open this first. I was going to give it to you tonight after everyone had gone to bed…but," she paused, flushing, "plans seemed to have changed."
He took the box, pocketing his own. He carefully slipped off the ribbon and tore open the paper, looking up at her before removing the top.
For several seconds, he did not look up again from the open box. Lizzie's heartbeat sped up so quickly that she could feel it pounding in her throat.
"Will—"
"—Lizzie" they both started. Will continued, "Is this…"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Just a couple of days ago."
"You're sure?" he asked, his eyes large with disbelief.
"I did like three different tests—that's the last one—and they all said the same thing. But I have a doctor's appointment when I get back."
For a long moment he didn't say a word.
"Please tell me what you're thinking," she begged.
"I'm thinking…that you really outdid me with this Christmas present. I'm thinking that I am sorry because I will never be able to do better than this."
The rush of relief was palpable, and she launched herself at him, clutching him as tightly as she could.
"Are you sure? I was so scared. I know we didn't plan it, and I don't know what happened. We were being so careful! I don't know if I can do this!"
"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked.
"I guess I thought that once I told you, it would be real. And I wasn't ready to take it on alone."
"We're having a baby," he said matter-of-factly, a smile curling on his lips.
"I'm sorry if this throw's a wrench in everything."
"This is hardly your fault. I'm just as culpable as you."
"You're…okay with this?" she asked.
"I think it's perfect. So can I give you your present now?"
"You still want to? I don't want you to think that I'm…taking you in. That's what your aunt will say."
"Aunt Catherine says a lot of things. Since when have I ever listened to any of them? Can I please give you your present now?"
"Yes," she said, "of course." She tried not to show it, but her heart was pounding almost more than before.
It was then that William Darcy, CEO of Pemberley Digital, older brother, and a man sometimes wiser than his years, fished out the small box from his pocket and kneeled down to the floor.
"Elizabeth Bennet," he began, "I am in love with you, I always will be, and I never want to be parted from you from this day on. Will you marry me?"
Her whole body came alive and yet she felt truly calm for the first time in days. It might not necessarily have been at the absolutely perfect time, or the most romantic place, or in the most pre-meditated of circumstances, but it made it perfect for them.
"Y—" she began, when Lydia, as if on cue, burst into the room.
"Oh my God," Lydia shouted, jumping and putting her hands to her mouth.
"Lydia!" Lizzie gasped.
"Oh my God! Oh my God!"
"Lydia!"
Lydia snorted with laughter and quickly shut the door.
"Will, she's going to tell everyone," Lizzie said, looking at the door, knowing her sister was still just outside, waiting to ambush them.
But when she looked back at him still kneeling on the ground, the look in his eyes was still just as intense as if Lydia had never interrupted.
"Lizzie—" he pressed.
"Yes! Yes, of course I will."
Together they heard the faint squeal of Lydia silently screaming.
Darcy opened the green box, revealing the ring inside. It was clearly old—handed down for several generations.
He smiled, his eyes watering with tears. "This was my grandmother's. My father gave it to me in his will."
Lizzie was crying now, too, something she never imagined she'd do, as he slipped the ring onto her finger, after which she pulled him up and kissed him thoroughly.
"So is this kind of jewelry okay?" he asked, pulling away just enough to speak.
"You know," she said, pecking his lips again, "I think this kind of jewelry I can get behind."